


I Buy My Own Dog Food Now

by Kit_Catastrophe



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25117441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_Catastrophe/pseuds/Kit_Catastrophe
Summary: Will Graham has finally gotten his f*cking life together.But you never know who'll you'll meet on a break out in the alley behind Nando's.Could be love. Could be lunch. Could be Hannibal here with a d*ick punch.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 7
Kudos: 26





	I Buy My Own Dog Food Now

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all I don't even now what the fuck I'm doing or loading on here. Nobody dies except Will's pride, but he doesn't even notice, so party.

Once upon a time there was a lonely cannibal walking down the high street of some European city that smelled like cheese and political dissent, but no one cared, because USA#1. His name was Hannibal and he disliked very much when folks wanted to rhyme his Christian name with his passion for people platters and caucasian cuisine. People would try and accuse Hannibal of being racist, because he only ate white people. Tom Fuckery was what that was, beloved readers, for if they truly knew Hannibal they would know he had a very keen delight for Chads and Karens. So much so was his taste for these vapid, out of reach anal warts, he would be forced to purchase six new chest freezers and an industrial juicer for personal reasons. For you see, dear readers, one could argue that the most important thing to remember of our fragile cannibal, is that he has an equally fragile patience toward rudeness.   
  
And y'all, Chads and Karens are fucking ruder than a hooker's tiddies under a blue corn moon. Tea.  
  
Anyway. Hannibal is out in the world, alone, with just the remains of people in his lower intestine to keep him company. Unfortunately he'd soon even lose that companionship when in a few hours time he would jettison their remains into the pristine basin of a gold plated shitter that could have been melted down to solve the global financial crisis; a frivolous purchase indeed, but dear readers, even the haughtiest of cannibals aren't above the easy seduction of shop therapy. Or the god tier dick rub on the ego of shitting people out

Hannibal went out for another one of his lonely strolls; there had been so many thoughts in his head and none of them hetero. Or vegan. What sort of god allowed veganism even?   
  
Hannibal smirked. He totally made a pun about him being god just then. Out loud. No one fucking laughed.   
  
Except this homeless guy from behind a dumpster.   
  
Did this man just read his thoughts? That was his first assumption. The second? Hannibal considered, like so many other days before, that he was indeed god. This man was a licensed psychiatrist. [Sometimes he wished people would also remember that he's a musician of the worst sounding instruments ever created.   
  
Hannibal kept staring, because he really wanted to know the answer to his burning question; is this man like an x-men or is was Hannibal, like he'd always suspected, god?  
  
It was neither, obviously. This vagrant wasn't just any vagrant. He was Will Graham formerly of the FBI and currently assistant manager of Nando's – and that means absolutely fucking nothing to no one; just the way Willy G. liked it. The alley wasn't an alley, well it was, but it wasn't a random alley this guy called home. Not anymore. He got off the booze and got a job and an apartment that doesn't allow dogs, but Will has a gun and he's not afraid to pull heat on his landlady, USA#1.   
  
But perhaps the biggest success of all? He's not sucking old Austrian dick for dog food anymore. He's buying Purina right at the store, like other people. Billiam Gorham didn't always feel like people. He felt other. Sometimes he wondered if he was actually dog and that's why he had most dog friends. They were a crew   
  
Hannibal, uncharacteristically timid, stepped down the back alley of this empty Nando's; empty because their chicken fucking sucks. Hannibal, so affronted by the presence of Nando's and the smell of dry chicken and middle aged men who've just settled for the lowest common denominator. But this boy? Well, he wanted to say he smelled different, but he too smelled like chicken and a cologne that he was pretty sure was just lemon fucking Pledge.   
  
Will turned around. They locked eyes. Will, squaring his shoulders, said with his chest puffed “I'm not sucking dick anymore, man. I buy my own dog food now.” Bill G. was incredibly proud of his achievements.   
  
Hannibal on the other hand was deeply confused and mildly afraid of the throbbing erection that in his pants at the words 'dog food', consequently that wasn't the part that frightened him the most, because a breath beyond that? The horrified thrill knowing that he wanted more.  
  
He just didn't really know what the hell 'more' was going to be with this fucking hobo.  
  
“It's very confronting to tell a man that you've discarded any carnality for him before you have even looked behind the curtain?” Hannibal said in a silky way that made Will think he was going to be sold to a Saudi Prince. Again.   
  
Pulling the small pen knife out of his pocket and folding out the blade, he pointed it at Hannibal, “No curtains.”  
  
Hannibal, confused “What?”  
  
“NO CURTAINS.”  
  
“What is your name, friend?”  
  
“Who the fuck's asking?”  
  
Hannibal, internally reading himself for filth for neglecting his staunch Emily Post manners that everyone is absolutely the fuck over at this point, puts out his hand; strong, fingers like cocks, and his palm warm, dry. Will looked at the European's hand and nodded knowingly. Unfortunately Will Grawham didn't know shit.  
  
“Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Hannibal Lecter, Doctor Hannibal Lecter.”  
  
“You said your name twice; fucking time waster. Me? Will Graham.” Will thrust out his fingers to start listing off traits that literally no one fucking asked for. “Smart. Loyal. Virile. High Sperm Count. Awesome. Fish.”  
  
Hannibal felt the imperialist part of his ego writhing in his gut. The same ego of his childhood when he lived like one of the fucking Adams Family or something, and was like chowing on sis with some drifters. It wanted him to hate this man who stunk of a truck stop, but not just the Pledge smell on his flesh, but also the scent and stain of blue urinal cakes on his soul. But goddamnit, through all that, he was fearless, wild, and without prompt very aggressively stated his sperm count.   
  
“That is incredibly awesome, William. May I call you William?” Will was ready to fight for his hole again with some affluent fucking European in an alley. He's never had his hole taken by force and tonight...well...this mother fucker was just hittin' different for ol' Willy Gorms.  
  
  



End file.
